


It Takes a Team

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Bad Things Bingo 2018 [12]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Care, References to Torture, Square filled: Pleading, Whump, Yeah okay I'm stretching this, but it's in there, emotional distress, kind restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Mac can only hide his injuries for so long. But being out from under Jack's watchful eye doesn't mean he's okay, far from it, in fact.





	It Takes a Team

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Secret_Library98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret_Library98) for her speedy and very helpful beta work!!! 
> 
> All remaining mistakes are mine and I don't share.

“Jack, I’m fine,” Mac says for probably the fifteenth time since they recovered him from the cartel.

Jack purses his lips and narrows his eyes, and Mac knows that Jack thinks he’s lying. And to be fair to Jack, he is. But Mac doesn’t need a babysitter. Jack and Riley have to get back out in the field with 5-0 and finish the job and neither of them will do that if they think for even a second that Mac needs help.

“Jack-”

Jack throws his hands up. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re fine.”

Mac nods, glad he’s finally gotten through to Jack and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I’m going back with McGarrett.”

“What? Why? I thought you said you were fine!” Jack protests. 

McGarrett isn’t going back out because he took a dive out of a second floor window onto concrete, which is how he dislocated his shoulder, got a concussion, and broke his wrist, forearm, and a couple ribs. Mac knows Jack’s mentally comparing McGarrett’s injuries to what little he can see on Mac, but now’s not the time to be forthcoming.

“I am fine, Jack. Or I will be. I’m exhausted and dehydrated, and the only thing that’s going to happen if I go back out into the field like this is a mistake. I don’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt, Jack.”

Jack’s narrowed eyes return. “They had you for what, twenty-two hours? How the hell are you so exhausted you can’t work? I’ve seen you run balls to the wall for seventy-two without taking a nap. What’d they do to you, kid?”

Mac tries to keep it from showing on his face how much everything _hurts_ when they hit a pothole. “Look, Jack. It’s nothing some sleep won’t fix. Can you lay off?”

Mac’s voice bites harder than he means for it to. He can see Riley cringe, but thankfully Jack just nods. 

“Yeah, sure, Mac. I’ll lay off.”

*****

They can’t go to the hospital for his or McGarrett’s injuries because the cartel has eyes everywhere, so McGarrett’s house it is. When they drop him and McGarrett off and leave Reigns with them for security, Mac doesn’t bother insisting he doesn’t need a babysitter. It’s taking everything he has to walk up the two steps to the front door without attracting the wrong kind of attention from Jack. The team is in a hurry and after Mac’s insistence that’s he’s nothing more than tired, they don’t even bother walking them in which is just as well. 

Reigns closes the door behind them, and as soon as they’re inside, Mac leans heavily against the recliner in the middle of the living room.

“Woah, hey,” Steve says, hurrying across the room, his right side clearly hurting him. “You alright, MacGyver?”

“Not exactly,” Mac finally admits. 

“What do you mean?” Reigns asks cautiously.

“They worked me over pretty good,” Mac says, skirting the real issue. He grips the blanket tight around his shoulders and staggers towards the kitchen table and chairs. McGarrett and Reigns follow.

“Here, easy,” McGarrett says, as Reigns pulls out a chair. He puts his hand on Mac’s back between his shoulder blades and Mac can’t help the flinch. 

Reigns must clock it because he turns the chair around so Mac’s back doesn’t have to touch the backrest. Mac sags into the chair in relief and rests his forehead on the backrest.

“I’m gonna take your blanket,” McGarrett warns softly.

Mac nods and lets go as McGarrett pulls it away. He doesn’t have the energy to fight, and these guys are friendlies. Instead he focuses on his breathing — shallow and tight doesn’t hurt as bad. He just has to stay still.

Mac can hear the way McGarrett’s breath leaves him all of the sudden. “Jesus,” McGarrett whispers. 

“Man, what happened?” Reigns asks.

Mac swallows, careful to stay as still as he can. “They asked a lot of questions and didn’t like my answers.”

“Junior, help him up. We need to move to the kitchen.” 

Mac staggers to his feet. Junior seems willing to take all of his weight if he should decide to lean against him, but Mac prefers to get there on his own steam. He already feels weak enough not being able to go back out and finish the mission; there’s no need to prove it.

McGarrett pulls the chair up beside the kitchen sink, and Reigns eases Mac down again. 

“Junior, get some kitchen towels. Soak them in hot water and bring them over here. MacGyver, stay here,” McGarrett instructs. Mac doesn’t bother to answer.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he feels is McGarrett’s hand on his shoulder. The touch is gentle, like he’s being careful of whatever’s under Mac’s bloodstained button up.

“You with me, MacGyver?”

Mac blinks, his eyes slowly focussing on the sudden array of first aid supplies on the island. “Mac.”

“What?” 

“Everyone calls me ‘Mac.’”

“Alright, Mac. Well I’m Steve and that’s Junior. Now Junior’s gonna lay these warm rags over your back, see if we can’t soften up that dried blood so we can get your shirt off without tearing anything open.”

Mac nods and crosses his arms around the backrest of the chair, gripping the sides tightly. The pressure of the hand towels hurts and the water stings at first, but the warmth feels amazing, and after the initial pain wears off he relaxes into it. 

Of course, the rags cool quickly and they have to repeat the process several times before his shirt starts to come free. In the interim, there’s a fair amount of experimental tugging at the offending cloth, and Mac does everything he can to keep from crying out. He knows that, in the long-term, his stoicism is a lost cause, because getting the shirt off is probably going to be the least traumatic part of this endeavor. If he’s biting back his pain now, then he’s not going to make it through this without making some noise.

After about fifteen minutes, it becomes apparent that there’s only so much blood that’s going to loosen up without being directly scrubbed, and that’s not something Mac’s about to suggest. 

“I think you’re just going to have to pull it off,” Mac finally says. It’s not exactly an appealing option, but it beats the thought of having Junior trying to work the shirt free by scrubbing it with a balled up washcloth. 

“If that’s what you want, man.” Junior sounds skeptical as hell.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.” Mac both wants this over ASAP and also to delay this until he can just get to a medical facility with general anesthesia. He feels raw in a way that has nothing — and everything — to do with his physical injuries. 

From what Mac can see, Steve’s every bit as tough as Jack. He’s also just as soft underneath. Not a lot of the special forces guys that Mac knew were like that; most of them were all sharp edges and anger, straight to the core. Mac never understood how Jack came out of all that as compassionate as he is. 

He’s reminded of Jack’s kindness when Steve carefully rolls a washcloth and helps Mac put it in his mouth, something to bite so he doesn’t crack a molar. Mac wishes, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, that Jack was here. It’s childish because Jack can’t _do_ anything, but it doesn’t make Mac miss him less.

*****

Before the shirt is all the way off, Steve knows they can’t handle this one on their own. He leaves Junior to it and steps out into the living room to call Noelani, the sight of tears dripping from Mac’s face, his eyes wide with fear follows Steve as the phone to the ME’s office rings through. 

“Noelani? Hey, I know you don’t like it when I ask you to come work on someone, but we’re trying to stay off-grid right now; the hospitals are under surveillance and I’ve got a guy here who needs some attention. Can you come to my place?”

He details the injuries that he knows of so that she can grab the relevant supplies, and Noelani promises to be there in half an hour. 

When he steps back into the kitchen, Mac looks like hell. Junior’s got the shirt all the way off and is cleaning up at the sink. Mac’s shaking and pale, his breath coming swallow little sips of air, like a dog panting, and there’s sweat running off his face. Steve has enough experience being in Mac’s place that he knows the last thing Mac wants right now is to be babied, but the urge to reach out and comfort is still there. Instead, he presses the fingers of his good hand to the inside of Mac’s wrist.

His pulse is sky-high which doesn’t really surprise Steve for all the pain this guy is in. Mac’s also sucking air hard through his nose and it makes a horrible grating noise against all the snot from his silent tears. Gently, Steve touches the side of Mac’s jaw.

“Hey, buddy. Open up for me. I’m gonna pull that rag out so you can breathe better, okay?”

Mac nods weakly and opens his mouth like the thought hadn’t really occurred to him. Steve can see that Mac’s trying to unstick his hand from where he’s got a white-knuckled death grip on the chair but it’s slow going.

“Easy, Mac,” Steve says softly. Mac stops trying to get his shaking hands to cooperate when Steve makes it obvious that he is, in fact, planning to retrieve the rag himself. It’s stuck in a couple places from where he’s bitten so hard that the threads are down between his teeth. Steve carefully plucks them free rather than just yanking. The moment it’s out, Mac takes a deep breath and rests his cheek on the backrest of the chair. He doesn’t close his eyes, though, and Steve’s been through enough to know how badly he must want to just rest. He also knows how hard won that situational awareness is. Steve wasn’t as young as Mac when he learned this shit the hard way, and the thought is more than a little depressing that Mac already has this stuff so deeply ingrained. 

Under Mac’s chair, there’s a puddle of water on the kitchen floor, and drop by drop, blood is tinting it red. Steve moves around to Mac’s back to see what, if anything, he can do to staunch the flow. There’s one particular wound that’s bleeding more heavily than the others, but it’s still not enough to merit intervention. All of Mac’s injuries clotted at one point and they’ll clot again. Applying pressure would only serve to put Mac in more pain and he’s already barely holding it together as it is.

“Do you think you could drink something?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Mac croaks out.

“Be right back.”

Steve gets a bottle of tepid gatorade and rummages around for a straw. He finally finds a pink thing with a flower on it that Grace left after a trip to Kamekona’s shave ice stand. He turns back a little too quickly and can’t quite stifle the hiss. It’s been over an hour since the fall and for the most part the pain has ebbed to a dull ache, one he can easily put out of his mind when confronted with the emergency that is Mac’s medical state. Still, fractured ribs are fractured ribs, as he is quickly reminded.

“Commander?” Junior asks, and Steve can hear the worry in his voice. 

“I’m fine. Just moved too fast.”

Mac obediently sips the drink a little at a time, but doesn’t seem to want too much. 

“You sure?” Steve asks as he pulls the bottle away.

Mac nods weakly. “I’ll probably throw that up in a little bit anyway. I’m betting your friend isn’t packing any general anesthesia.” At this point he’d settle for a chloroform soaked rag. 

Steve sets the bottle on the counter. “No, she’s not.” Enough pain makes anyone throw up, and he can tell Mac’s teetering on the edge of that already. 

“You should be lying down,” Mac mumbles.

Steve stands there, a little dumbstruck, because other than Danny and sometimes Lou, people don’t just tell Steve to go lie down. And here Mac is, looking out for Steve’s well-being while he’s shaking from pain. “This is just another day at the office, Mac. I’ll be fine,” he insists.

Mac shakes his head slowly. “You’ve got a concussion. You need to be lying down in the dark before the headache hits. Besides, I saw how much toradol you got Junior to inject you with at exfil. You’re clearly in a lot of pain. Go sleep. You’ll feel better for it.”

“He’s right, boss,” Junior chimes in. “You shouldn’t be moving around too much until you get those ribs x-rayed. You could puncture a lung. Noelani and I can take care of Mac.”

“Danny put you up to this,” Steve accuses with a smile. 

“Well, better you’re mad at me than him,” Junior shoots, grinning just the same. 

“Fair. How about I sit and wait with you guys until Noelani gets here? I need her to reduce my shoulder anyway.”

“I guess that would make it hard to sleep, wouldn’t it?” Mac asks softly.

Junior smiles and goes to the dining room to get another chair.

*****

It takes Noelani about a minute to reduce Steve’s shoulder and another three to assess his wrist, forearm, and ribs. 

When she’s done, Noelani tells Steve, “Go lie down,” with the authority of someone who’s patients never backtalk her.

Junior looks at Steve with raised eyebrows as if to say, _Go on already._

“This isn’t a democracy. It’s my house,” Steve points out, already getting out of the chair.

“Pretty sure medical outranks you,” Junior reminds him. 

“You’re doing the dishes for the next week,” Steve says as he staggers towards the dining room.

“I’m doing all of them until you get the cast off!” Junior calls after him. He turns back to see Mac and Noelani both smiling. 

For someone who prefers working with dead bodies to real, live people, Noelani surprises Junior at how good she is with Mac. She manages to draw him into a conversation about a case they recently worked. They had been at a loss as to how the victim died and _then_ wound up behind the wheel of a car that had been driven over a cliff when the doors were locked from the inside with only the victim’s fingerprints anywhere in or on the car. Mac lobs theories at her while Noelani places an IV and it’s honestly the best Junior’s seen him since they rescued him. 

Once Mac’s hand is taped up, Noelani scowls. “How are we going to hang the saline?”

Junior looks around the kitchen but nothing comes to mind.

“Grab the broom and three zipties,” Mac directs.

Junior does as he’s told because he’s seen Mac in action and knows whatever he’s cooking up is going to work. Mac explains how to thread the ziptie through the gaps in the head of the broom and then onto the chair rail just above the seat. Two more zipties to secure it to the chair plus a shower curtain ring through the loop at the top of the broom handle and they’ve got an insta-IV pole. 

“Okay, Mac. I have to ask you some questions,” Noelani says and Junior can practically feel Mac’s tension rise. 

“Sure.”

They go over basic medical history — allergies, surgeries, current medications, the works. While they talk, Junior cleans up what he can, though he did most of it before Noelani arrived. He just wants to busy his hands rather than waiting anxiously. 

Noelani pauses after Mac describes his most recent hospitalization. Junior can feel her discomfort, too. 

“Mac, I don’t mean to pry, and I’m not asking for details, but I need to know what they hit you with.”

Mac swallows, and the shaking in his hands that never really stopped gets a whole lot worse. “He made a cat o’nine tails out of a light-duty extension cord; stripped the ends down to the wire. I don’t think you need to worry about infection; he poured vodka over it a few times when I didn’t give him what he wanted. The small burns are from a cattle prod.”

Junior hadn’t even noticed those and he immediately finds himself looking over the hellscape that is Mac’s skin for evidence of other, unstated abuses.

Noelani nods. “Okay. That’s good to know. Um, I’m going to have to irrigate your wounds and a few places are going to require stitches. Because I work with dead people I don’t actually have access to pain medication; do you think you can manage stitches without a local?” Noelani asks.

Mac looks down and nods. “Yeah. It won’t be the first time.”

“What I meant was: do you think you can sit still?”

The silence that follows answers the question, but Mac still manages a rough, “No.”

“We can take breaks if we need to, but Junior can help, too, if you’re alright with him holding you.”

Mac nods mutely, still looking at the floor. 

“Okay, well you can change your mind later,” Noelani reminds him. “Junior, do you wanna…?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He grabs the washcloth from earlier, retwisting it into shape for Mac’s mouth, and then hands it to Mac to position however he wants. While Mac’s situating that, Junior scoots Steve’s newly vacated chair up to Mac’s, and loops his ankles through Mac’s, holding them so he can’t pull away. Then he leans forward, one arm around the top of his shoulders where the fewest cuts and bruises are and the other around his waist, below most of the damage. They’re pretty much collarbone to collarbone which displaces Mac’s head off the backrest of the chair, and he lays his head on Junior’s shoulder instead. 

Junior’s seen a couple guys who got rescued. They were angry, scared, skittish — their emotions every which way to Sunday. But with Mac’s general demeanor, his extra-large personal space bubble, his questionable social skills — Junior didn’t see it coming that Mac would just let Junior hold him down, like the physical contact wasn’t immediately unappealing, like he really just wanted someone to touch him but didn’t know how to ask. 

“I’m going to start at the top and work my way down. Most of your injuries only need to be irrigated and dressed so we’ll start there. I’ll tell you what I’m doing as I work.”

Junior feels the tension come back but he doesn’t hold Mac in place just yet, so much as just hold him. In as much as Junior isn’t doing anything, his presence seems to help. Whenever  
Noelani touches something that makes Mac flinch or groan, Junior briefly tightens his hold, murmuring reassurances to Mac. 

“We got you.”

“You’re safe here.”

“She’s working as fast as she can, just hang on.”

“You’re doing great.”

“Just let us do the work.”

Junior can feel how Mac’s silent tears dampen, and then soak, the shoulder of his t-shirt. Still, Mac manages to keep a lid on it until Noelani starts suturing. The first needle stick and he’s pulling hard against Junior.

“I can’t. I _can’t._ ” It’s muffled from the rag in Mac’s mouth but Junior doesn’t have any trouble making it out. 

Mac’s scared and miles past “handling it.” Junior can feel Mac’s pulse jackrabbiting against his shoulder, and his breathing is fast and rough in Junior’s ear. When Mac struggles, Junior pulls him tight, holding him still despite his attempts to get free. Mac’s strong but slight, and he’s no match for Junior’s bulk, especially not in his current state. 

Junior can’t make this easier. All he can do is keep talking the way he has been this whole time. “Yeah, you can. You’ve _been_ doing it. This is just the homestretch. The last mile is always the hardest. You got this.”

Noelani keeps on sewing, every stitch drawing a bitten off scream from Mac. Junior doesn’t even have to ask to know that Mac didn’t talk when they tortured him. He’s just been dealing and behaving and managing in so much pain for so long that he can’t do it anymore. 

“I’m sorry, Mac. I know. I know. All you gotta do is let us help.”

The open weeping he gets in response makes Junior tear up. Noelani sniffles and he looks up to see her crying, too. He was so focused on Mac that he hadn’t even looked at Noelani, but he’s not surprised. Being the ME has got to be tough, but at least her patients don’t cry anymore.

She sutures two more places and glues the rest, and Mac pulls and pulls and pulls. Junior thinks maybe it’s almost a relief for Mac not to have to restrain himself anymore. He doesn’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t have to pretend to have it all together.

“One thing left and then we’re done,” Noelani says.

Mac nods mutely against Junior’s shoulder. 

“You’ve got a big hematoma in the middle of your back. It’s close to your spine and I don’t want it swelling anymore and putting pressure on any big nerves. Plus, I bet once it’s drained, it’ll bring down your pain level a lot. I’m gonna numb the site with some ice beforehand so you’re gonna get a break for a bit.”

While Noelani digs around in the freezer, Mac sags into the chair, letting Junior’s arms take whatever weight the chair isn’t holding. Junior gives in to the urge to offer physical comfort and rubs his thumb along the hairline on Mac’s neck. He shudders and then abruptly sits up, looking at Junior with wide eyes.

“Hey, sorry. Too far,” Junior apologizes, holding his hands up in a very belated attempt not to be threatening. “We’re almost done and then I’ll get outta your space.”

Mac nods but he stares down Junior like he’s an incoming ballistic missile. That’s probably fair, they barely know one another and more than half their interactions have involved Junior doing shit to Mac that hurts. And given that Noelani thinks that ice is the way to go for whatever she’s planning, what’s coming next is gonna be even worse. 

“Hey, I’ve got the ice. I’m gonna put it directly on your skin. It’s probably going to hurt,” Noelani warns.

Mac nods, his eyes still locked on Junior. His terrified focus is broken the moment the ice makes contact. Mac exhales like the air has been punched out of his lungs, and he lurches forward, leaning against the backrest of the chair involuntarily. While Noelani holds the ice, Mac rests against the chair and pants, staring at the far wall. 

After a few minutes, Noelani asks, “Can you feel this?”

Junior feels a little sick watching her poke the ugly, purple lump on Mac’s back with a needle, but Mac just shakes his head.

“Just pressure,” Mac answers.

“Alright, Junior, I want you to hold him in case I hit something that isn’t completely numb,” Noelani says.

Mac obediently picks his head up and rests it on Junior’s shoulder like he wasn’t utterly terrified of Junior just five minutes ago. When Junior watches Noelani tear open a package and pull out a scalpel, he tightens his hold on Mac. 

“What…?” 

Junior can hear the fear in Mac’s voice, and he does his best to reassure him. “Just a quick poke. After the ice, it shouldn’t hurt.”

Noelani looks at Junior and raises her eyebrows, but Junior doesn’t think telling Mac the truth just before Noelani takes a scalpel to him would be a good option. He watches quietly as Noelani makes an incision about two inches long. Thick, dark blood begins to ooze out of the wound, and she wipes up the drainage with a series of gauze pads. But it’s not until she presses on either side of the incision that Mac reacts.

“Fuck!”

Junior holds Mac tight as he screams. 

“Almost done,” Noelani says, but her voice is so soft and teary that Junior isn’t sure that Mac can hear her over his own labored breathing. 

“We got you, man. She’s almost done,” Junior repeats.

He feels it coming, the way Mac’s whole body shudders and lurches, but Noelani is still working and Junior can’t just let him go. When Mac finally does vomit, it’s not much, just the little bit of gatorade that he’d sipped at earlier. It runs down Junior’s back, soaking into his shirt.

Once she’s done pressing the wound and emptying the blood out, Noelani opts against closing the incision just in case they have to drain it again. Mac flinches as she presses on the dressing but is otherwise quiet aside from his intermittent dry heaving. 

“We’re done,” Noelani finally says.

Mac nods and weakly attempts to sit up, though he doesn’t quite manage it, collapsing back against the backrest again, his chest heaving . Junior takes that as his cue to get out of Mac’s space and goes to help Noelani clean up. There’s a pile of wet and bloody towels under Mac’s chair that Junior tosses directly into the wash — along with his shirt — and he adds healthy helpings of borax and oxyclean. Blood stained clothes are nothing new in this house and Junior knows to turn the washer to cold before he starts it.

But no amount of washing is gonna help Mac’s pants; they were already caked in dried blood when he’d gotten to the house and now they’re soaked in another coat. It hits Junior then, that what Mac needs is a shower, not just clean pants. Of course he’s got too many dressings for a proper rinse but there’s a plastic stool in the bathroom they use for for washing up while injured. They can work it out, even if it’s just a cat-bath.

“Hey, Mac. What do you think about getting cleaned up and into some dry clothes?”

Mac nods weakly, the bite rag hanging from his trembling hand. “Sounds good.”

Junior smiles, tight lipped. He’s reminded of his dad when he first came home from Walter Reed without his leg. He was too little then to help his mom care for his dad, but he remembers that mom helping him wash up and do his exercises still hurt long after most of the injuries were scarred over. It’s not a good memory because Dad’s alcoholism really started then. Then again, thinking of his dad’s injuries doesn’t really bother Junior the way it used to. Whatever happened to his dad over there, Junior didn’t do it, just like he didn’t hurt Mac. He thinks maybe he ought to feel worse about what he just did, but he made peace with hurting to help years ago.

*****

Jack’s not exactly worried about Mac, but, yeah, no, okay that’s bullshit. He’s fucking worried. Mac is a tough little SOB and he doesn’t beg off work for dehydration or exhaustion or anything else short of actual incapacitation. And sure, he was limping a little at exfil but Jack chalked it up to the inevitable knocking around Mac got from being kidnapped and questioned. It’s not fun, but it’s also nothing new. 

But Jack didn’t really have the time to stew on all that while they were on their way to finish mopping up the cartel boys. On the way back, however, Jack’s had plenty of time to wonder just what Mac was covering up with that blanket that he was pulling so tight in the eight-five degree Hawaiian weather. 

He bounds onto McGarrett’s front porch and turns the knob, but it’s locked. He pounds on the door and Reigns opens it a second later, gun in hand. 

“Hey, June-y baby. How’s the homefront?” Jack says, pushing his way inside.

Reigns holsters his gun. “No activity here. You get them all?”

Jack smiles and nods. “Sure did. So, uh, where’s Mac and McGarrett?”

“McGarrett’s sleeping upstairs and Mac is resting in the guest room. I don’t think he’s really managed to sleep, though,” Junior explains darkly. 

Jack frowns, there’s something this kid ain’t saying and Jack doesn’t like it one bit. “What’s wrong with Mac?”

By this time Riley, Danny, Tani, Adam, Lou, and Jerry are all packed into what had felt like a spacious living area. Junior shifts but doesn’t look away.

“He was tortured — whipped and shocked. It took Noelani and me over an hour to patch him up.”

“How’s he doing?” Riley demands.

“He’s gonna be alright, but they hurt him pretty badly. I don’t think he’s gonna be out in the field any time soon,” Junior says.

Jack’s stomach drops into his boots. “Why didn’t the kid tell me?”

“I think he knew that if you found out, you wouldn’t go back out, and he knew that we needed you. You couldn’t have done anything for him here, man. This ain’t your fault,” Lou says.

It’s largely the truth and Jack knows he probably needs to hear it, but he sure as hell doesn’t like it. He’s Mac’s overwatch, it’s always his job to prevent this, so yeah, it kind of is his fault. If nothing else, he could have been here for Mac while they were putting him back together. But his failings aren’t 5-0’s business so all he says is, “Point me to him.”

When Jack opens the door, Mac flinches hard before he zeroes in on Jack’s face. But even after he relaxes from DEFCON 5 or whatever setting his brain is on, his eyes stay wide. Jack can read the fear and pain all over him.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly.

“Hey,” Mac whispers.

Slowly, Jack makes his way to the bed. Mac’s lying on his side facing the door, a half empty IV bag hanging from the headboard by a shower curtain hook. Jack can tell that Junior was right, Mac hasn’t slept a wink. 

Jack sits beside him on the bed, careful not to jostle Mac. He can’t really see all the damage on Mac’s back, but what he can see paints one helluva picture. Bruises wrap around Mac’s sides, covering his chest and parts of his stomach. There are cuts and welts and midnight blue bruises covering pretty much all of what Jack can see of Mac’s back. He understands with horrifying clarity why Mac held onto that blanket so tightly — his clothes had to have been soaked in blood and was doing everything he could to cover it. Jack’s been there himself, he knows how bad this hurts, and he’s both amazed and nauseated that Mac was able to hide it so well.

“How you feeling?”

Mac blinks up at Jack. “Like shit.”

Jack smiles. “Yeah, well, you look like shit.”

Mac chuckles softly, probably the most he can physically manage.

“What can I do?” Jack asks. It’s a question for both of them: Jack _needs_ to help, and Mac won’t ever ask for anything unless someone offers it first.

“I don’t- I-” Mac clams up and shakes his head.

Jack chances a hand on Mac’s mostly undamaged arm. “Hey, no, you don’t get to tell me nothing. There’s something you want, you ask for it, alright? That’s why I’m here.”

Mac sniffles and stares determinedly at Jack’s pant leg. “I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I can see them. I just-”

Jack rubs Mac’s arm, waiting on him to finish but he doesn’t seem to plan on it. “I know what that’s like, helps if you’re not alone. So come on, let’s scoot you over. My ass ain’t narrow like yours and I’m gonna lie down with you.”

“Jack, you don’t have to-”

“Oh, come on. The hell else am I gonna do? Go downstairs and play poker? Knit a doily?”

“That’s crochet, Jack,” Mac points out. _Thank God,_ Jack thinks, Mac’s well enough to correct his bullshit. It’s a good sign.

“Whatever. Shut up and start scooting.”

It takes a little careful resituating, but eventually Jack ends up with Mac’s head pillowed on his shoulder. He can’t really put his arm around Mac’s back so he lays his hand carefully on the back of Mac’s head, threading his fingers through Mac’s hair. 

It takes about fifteen minutes before Mac’s breathing finally evens out enough for Jack to think he’s asleep. It’s only then that Jack lets his own tears quietly fall. It’s hardly the first time any of them have been tortured, and the hurt is never less, but they’ll get through this. They always do.


End file.
